Gwenhwyfar chattered on, as artlessly as a girl half her age. But I have seen it-he will die, honorably, for the cross he worships. But you are older now, she said, with that old sense of helplessness. Morgause thought, I did not know she had left Avalon.
arly spring flowers, the little pale arbutus that hides under the leaves even before the snow is gone. We will all be praying for you, Galahad, that you make a good knight, and that one day, you will make a good king, said Gwenhwyfar. Perhaps I have been too long away from Avalon. Morgaine remembered a little child prattling of Lancelet to a painted wooden knight she had carved for him.
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